


No Better Love

by keeping_10_people_happy_is_tricky



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Reader-Insert, Reunion Sex, Self-Indulgent, Title from a Hozier Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-08-19 03:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20203093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeping_10_people_happy_is_tricky/pseuds/keeping_10_people_happy_is_tricky
Summary: After eight years, you finally reunite with the person you missed most.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I just really need more Charles Smith content because I legit love him.  
It's not even funny anymore. 
> 
> Also, the title of this is from Hozier. I could write fic inspired by his songs for dayyyyyyys. He's so goddamn good.  
I wrote this while very sleep deprived so there will be mistakes that I will get to soon! 
> 
> Enjoy :) 
> 
> Disclaimer:  
Characters aren't mine, mistakes are.

~

When our truth is burned from history  
By those who figured justice in fond memory, witness me  
Like fire weeping from a cedar tree  
Know that my love would burn with me  
We'll live eternally

'Cause there's no better love  
That beckons above me, there's no better love  
That ever has loved me, there's no better love  
So darling, feel better love

'Cause there's no better love  
That's laid beside me, there's no better love  
That justifies me, there's no better love  
So darling, darling, feel better love  
Feel better love

-Hozier

~

The train whistle wakes you up like a stab to the head. It’s been a long ride, from Beecher’s Hope to Saint Denis. But you’d told John and Uncle that it was best you go alone, that neither of them would want to witness this reunion.

Uncle had joked that he did, unsurprisingly. But John had understood. He always did, like a good brother should. For the past few years, you’d been helping him and Abigail out when you could, when you weren’t working, yourself. Singing in bars and small shows earned well enough, but not often enough. So, you’d also taken up teaching, local kids and sometimes as a private tutor to folks who could afford it.

But ever since Abigail had left with Jack, and you really couldn’t blame her, you’d stuck by John since there wasn’t really anyone else anymore. You’d almost slapped him stupid when he told you he’d bought Beecher’s Hope; the rundown dust-pit of land it was. But it’s what Abigail wanted, he’d said, and that had been the end of it.

But this reunion is yours. John and Uncle know that. It’s yours and it’s been yours for over eight years.

When you get off the train, you’re hit with the reminder that you really don’t like Saint Denis. It’s like a fact that was lost to time, only to be discovered by being there. Dutch may have been wrong about several things, but his dislike for civilization was something you couldn’t disagree on. Pushing aside thoughts on that man, that time, you stride into town with a strong sense of determination. Most folk turn away from you, a few children jump out of your way, even. You’ve got one job to do here and you’ll be damned if anyone tried to stop you. It’s like the sweetest stab of pain; being so close but it’s still not enough.

Your feet carry you to the nearest tavern, one you and Sadie Adler had gone to when you’d been sent to scope out the town. Another ghost from the past you were joyously reunited with. But you weren’t here for her. Nor for pleasantries with the barman. You ask your questions and he wisely gives you directions without missing a beat.

As you near your destination, you notice a few others heading the same way. There’s some sort of excitement to them. Those that walk in pairs talk hurriedly between themselves while other men walk determinedly. You follow one such fellow all the way to Saint Saturnines. A few of them give you strange looks; a woman walking alone to whatever excites them so much.

It’s when you hear the crowd that your nerves suddenly kick in. Your determination wavers for a moment as you stand just at the gate. An old man brushes past you, looking at you funny, and you notice the cash in his hand. A thought clicks in your head and suddenly you realize exactly what you’re walking into.

After everything that had happened in the gang, the idea of a crowd of men cheering for a fight doesn’t seem to bother you. The thrill you used to get when you went of a job with your fellow gang-members (it hurt to remember them as your family) spreads from your chest. You’re so close, you _have_ to be, and your footsteps quicken around the corner.

“…but they hate a massacre, and you are a killer. I’m going now.”

“That man has no clue,” you say as casually as possible, even with your heart trying to crawl up your throat. You nearly sob when Charles turns around and sees you. He’s tired, he’s bloody bruised, and as handsome as you remember.

“Y/n?”

“Hello Charles.” The name slides so nicely along your tongue, causing a smile to split across your face.

“You’re alive!” He moves to touch you, bruised hands reaching for you, but stops before he can. It won’t do. His hands are rough, warm, dirty and so very much real in your own. Any breath in you leaves as Charles’ hands grab yours just as tightly.

“So are you,” you say, laughing a little. A hiss of a breath slips past your teeth at the nasty cut on his cheek. You lift one of your hands from his to gently brush some of his hair away to see it better. “Is that as fun as it looks?”

“Of course not.” He leans into your gentle touch as if starved. Maybe he is, you certainly are.

“Charles, I-.”

“I missed you.” Plain and simple. It makes your heart feel too big for your chest. You want to cry. To laugh. To run away as far and as fast as you can. As long as you get to see Charles’ face.

“I missed you too. I missed you so much, Charles.” You grab his face just to lean your forehead against his. A small sound escapes him; it’s soft and raw and too emotional for you to process. “I can’t believe I found you.”

“How did you find me?” Charles pulls back a little to look at you. Your faces hover closely like hummingbirds and bees around beautiful flowers. “It’s been years.”

“Uncle said he heard you were here.”

“Uncle? He’s still alive.”

“Yeah, so is John and Abigail. Jack and Sadie too.”

“I can’t believe it.” Charles’ hands drift to your wrists, not missing the opportunity to run them up along your arms. He doesn’t try to pull you away, just holds you there.

“Uncle thought you were in some kind of trouble.”

“Kinda…” It’s now that Charles pulls your hands from his face. It’s the look of shame he has that worries you the most. “I’ve been throwing fights for a few dollars.”

“Throwing fights? Charles… that’s really dangerous you realize?”

“I know…”

“So… what do you want to do?”

Charles pauses for a long moment. His eyes only leave your face for barely a second when he glances at the crowd to your left. You watch his face, studying everything you remember and nuances that time has given him. It’s obvious when a thought occurs to Charles; his face lights up a little and you wish he would smile outright like he used to.

“Let me go place a bet.” It’s nowhere near what you had expected, nor what you really want, but Charles smiles at your obvious confusion and slight disappointment. “People are going to bet more on me losing.” Charles admits quietly, leaning closer to you. “Which means I’ll get more money if I win.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I kinda already planned it.”

“Well, is there anything I can do?”

Again, Charles hesitates with a quick flash of shame. He looks down at his bare torso, covered in blood and a few scars.

“Y/n, don’t take this badly. But I’d rather you weren’t here. I… I don’t want you to see me…”

“See you beat the crap out of someone?” Charles snorts a laugh and it’s still one of your favourite sounds in the world. “I’ve seen you do it before. But never shirtless.”

That gets his attention. It’s the smallest movement, but you catch the twitch of Charles’ mouth as a warmth shows in his dark eyes. Suddenly the air between you is barely enough for your lungs.

“I could give you a private show. Later. But for now… wait for me out front?”

You nod without thinking; as if you could ever say no to him. Charles gives you a warm, fond smile that makes your stomach flutter like you were some naïve girl. When he steps back and gives you a better view his bared chest and arms, that fluttering turns to burning.

“I’ll go wait by the road.” You stumble backwards a little; unable to keep your eyes off of him. Charles, on his part struggles to turn away from you. When he does, however, you can’t help but call out. “Oh, and Charles? I’ll kiss you if you win.”

He looks baffled at first, like he cannot process your words. But then there’s a joy in his eyes that reminds you so much of hope. It takes more effort than you care to admit, to turn from him. But it won’t be long now before it’s just you and Charles after so many years.

_TBC _


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised: frick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me why it took So long to write of 2000 words of essentially smut with feelings.  
But I can finally, FINALLY, give you chapter 2. 
> 
> Enjoy 
> 
> Disclaimer:  
Characters aren't mine, mistakes are.

~

I once kneeled in shaking thrill  
I chase the memory of it still, of every chill  
Chided by that silence of a hush sublime  
Blind to the purpose of the brute divine  
But you were mine  
Staring in the blackness at some distant star  
The thrill of knowing how alone we are, unknown we are  
To the wild and to the both of us  
I confessed the longing I was dreaming of

Some better love, but there's no better love  
Beckons above me and there's no better love  
That ever has loved me, there's no better love  
Darling, feel better love  
Feel better love 

-Hozier 

~

Leaving Saint Denis was a nightmare. First, there was the hasty walk to the docks where you practically had to run to keep up with Charles. Then there was that brief encounter with Martelli’s men; you couldn’t help the bittersweet memories that that conjured. But the worst was actually riding out of town. Once you were a safe distance, you’d quickly taken the reins from Charles and he had the good grace to look contrite.

You made idle chatter during the ride to Valentine, catching each other up on the past eight years. Most of it is easy, trivial things. It gets very quiet when you try to talk about the not so easy things. But neither of you push. Your hands find Charles’ arm whenever he stops talking and his hand holds yours when the words won’t come out of your mouth. You want to tell him anything and everything. But you’ll have time for that, you realize, for the rest of your lives. If he’d have you.

Arriving in Valentine is like stumbling into a memory. You hear phantom voices and shadows in the corner of your eye look painfully familiar. In the light of sunset, you half expect to see a ghost stumble out of the tavern and smile at you. But Charles’ hand is real on your own and that’s what you focus on when he leads you to the hotel; leaving your horses and cart at the stables. You get a few stares from folk but otherwise you’re just two travelers stopping in for the night. Charles orders a room and you order a bath. He grins a little when you complain about dust and dirt on you.

Charles lets you take the first bath, seeing as though you weren’t the one still covered in blood. It’s almost painful to see him go. But you weren’t lying about the dirt, and your muscles ache from the long ride on the wooden cart.

You soak for a while, letting the warmth seep beneath your skin. You feel almost drowsy as time passes, lost in thoughts of the future; what will happen tonight, tomorrow, a year from now. The one constant is Charles. 

You find him up in your room, seated on the edge of the bed. He practically jumps to his feet when you open the door.

“The bath is yours,” you say in lieu of a greeting.

Charles looks hesitant to leave you. He pauses beside you and runs his fingers along your arm. “Wait for me?”

“Of course.”

The room is awfully quiet without him. With nothing to do, you flitter about the room like a hummingbird. You double check your things then triple check for no real reason. You cannot help the nerves. You’re excited, of course, but there’s always that little seed of doubt in the back of your mind.

The door closes and Charles stands there, looking at you.

“What is it?” You ask when he makes no move to talk or approach. “I got something on me?”

“Nah,” he replies. “Still can’t believe I’m here… with you.”

“Neither. We heard that the tribe had been torn apart and that many of them were killed. Then I’d heard nothing about you anywhere. I thought you were-”

“It’s alright, Y/n, I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Besides…”

“What?”

Charles hesitates then, standing in front of you. But the look in his eyes are determined and what you thought was hesitation is actually desire.

“I won,” he says knowingly. There’s something devilish about his grin that makes your heart stutter.

It takes you only a second to understand. “That you did, Lone Wolf.”

“I believe I was promised something. Something I would like very much.”

“Good thing I keep my promises.”

The first time you had kissed Charles was behind Shady Belle, when Arthur and John had rescued Jack. You’d both been a little tipsy. You’d left the gang to get some air and a little peace and quiet. Charles had found you not long after. Despite the joy and relief at Jack’s return, you couldn’t help but think of how much Sean would’ve enjoyed the celebration, and that you were afraid it’d be the last party the gang would have.

Charles had kissed you then. It wasn’t hard or hungry, just soft and solid and so very warm. This time, when you kiss him, it’s feather-light and almost shy. You pull back enough to gauge his reaction and find him looking at you adoringly.

You’re not sure who moves first.

You kiss like you’ve done it a thousand times before; falling into the rhythm of it without stumbling. Your hands are on either side of Charles’ handsome face while his hold your waist and back. He’s more solid than you remember, and his hands are rougher. But, as it always has been with him, Charles is gentle. At first, you don’t notice just how light his hold is on you. You push against his chest just enough for him to pull back. Both of you stare, a little breathless, and that’s when you notice.

His hands are shaking.

So are yours.

It’s your hands that touches skin first and it sends a churn of warmth through you when your fingers slip beneath the collar of his shirt. Charles’ chest is solid, his heartbeat erratic, and the simple contact makes you desperate for more. His mouth finds yours again, less reverent and more fervid. But his hands remain gentle; especially when they pull your dress away. You, on the other hand, almost rip Charles’ shirt off.

Your bodies are like magnets: no matter which way you twist or turn, there’s no separation between you. Eventually there isn’t even cloth.

When you pull Charles close, he pulls you closer; skin against heated skin. Each of his breaths is met with yours; kisses too. You feel the moan you coax from Charles against your tongue when your hand tangles in his hair. He pays you back by slipping one hand from your back to your waist. It almost takes your knees out when he squeezes the flesh of your ass, lifting you for a moment. But then his hand moves to your front and in between your legs. Then those clever, nimble fingers start playing you like an instrument. You sing for him, or something perversely close. Moaning and sighing. But it’s music to his ears. Charles’ other hand holds you steady when your body begins to rock and writhe on its own. Another finger slips inside, and it has you shaking.

“Charles-”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your neck. “Does it feel good?”

There’s something about the way he says it, almost scared, that makes you feel so _soft_. You kiss his cheek and breathe, “It feels _so_ good, Charles.”

“Are you close?”

Your answer is a stuttered mewl, feeling a coil constrict low in your stomach. The muscles around Charles’ thick fingers begin to tighten just as he slips them from you.  
“Charles?!”

In your shock at being denied, it takes you a moment longer to notice just how hard Charles is. So lost in your own lust, you hadn’t noticed him rubbing against your thigh. The sight of it, of him, it hazes your mind and your body moves on its own.

It’s so easy, falling to your knees. You lather kisses and bites to Charles’ stomach and his muscles twitch against your lips. But it’s difficult to ignore the heated length that rubs against your chest and neck.

As soon as your hand is on it, Charles’ lets out the most _obscene_ moan. You don’t know how long it’s been since someone’s touched him. A selfish, jealous part of you hopes it was before he met you.

“Y/n,” he says like he’s got no breath left in him. “You don’t have to…”

“But I want to, Charles.”

How could he argue with that?

It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, and it’s almost like the first time you tried. But every breath and touch has Charles’ twitching. His hands flex and clench at his sides as you work him over. Tongue and cheek, lips and breath, hands and saliva. It doesn’t take long before Charles’ is a moaning mess above; he almost looks pained. When you take him as far as you can into your mouth, his breath comes out like a punch to the gut.

Strong hands find your head, tugging your hair and holding you still for a moment. Your jaw aches a little at his size. Then Charles’ slides you off from him and lifts you without even a hitch in his breathing.

Before you can ask if you’d done something wrong, he lowers you onto the edge of the bed and gets on his knees.

“Sorry, Y/n.” He says against your thigh, laving kisses to the soft skin. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to last very long; it’s been a while.”

“How long?”

“Since you.”

Any rational thought is thrown out the window. With little finesse, you drag Charles up until he’s laying atop you. He snorts a laugh at your desperation which turns into a sigh as you kiss him firmly. Just by that sound, you can tell he’s a little desperate too.

“It’s the same for me,” you answer quickly. “I don’t think I can last very long either.”

Charles’ tongue slides against yours when he lines himself at your entrance. You moan into the kiss when he pushes forward and neither of you can pull your mouths away until his hips are pressed against the backs of your thighs.

“You alright?” He speaks the words against your mouth and a part of you _melts_ at him nuzzling his nose against yours.

“I’m so full of happiness I can barely breathe.”

“You sure it’s _just_ happiness?”

For a wonderful moment, you both laugh; foreheads pressed together. Despite Charles’ weight on top of you, you’ve never felt lighter. Even when he presses against you, pushing what little air you have out, your heart flutters like a hummingbird. Charles kisses you over and over, like he cannot stop. The pace of his hips is slow but steady. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist while one of your hands reaches around his broad shoulders; feeling the muscles flexing and shifting beneath his warm skin. The other one cradles his scarred cheek and your thumb brushes the skin just beneath his eye.

In all the time you’ve known him, Charles has been taciturn. Even though there’s no words, he does make the most wonderful noises. Every kiss is accompanied by a moan and almost every thrust is followed by the throatiest grunt. Then those sounds change into desperate panting, his chest heaving against yours.

“Y/n-”

“Inside me, Charles. Please,”

Even though his hips never stop, the rest of him is still. “You sure?”

You know the risk, the possible consequence, and at that moment you don’t mind the idea. Not when you finally have the one person you’ve always wanted back. The resolution must’ve shown on your face. Charles’ whole body begins moving, surging and writhing against yours. One of his large hands caresses your cheek before he slides it down your body. If you weren’t so clouded in lust and love, you would’ve shuddered at how obscene your response is. Without though, your body arches into his hand as it moves, as if you were somehow ripening under his touch.

“Charles!” Those clever fingers find your clit the same time his mouth latches to your neck.

“With me-Y/n, please. I want you-”

“Oh-ah, Charles… please-Charles!”

His face hovers above you, keeping eye contact as the pace quickens. “You’re mine, Y/n. Don’t ever leave me.”

“N-never. Never, Charles. I love you.” The look of utter reverence on his face does it. The muscles in your lower body tense as your climax shudders through your whole body. You throw your head back and moan out Charles name, exposing your neck which he peppers with kisses. The sensation of you tightening around him sends Charles over. He thrusts a few more times, shaky but solid, and groans from deep in his chest.

In the afterglow, ignoring the drying moisture and the ache in your bodies, you hold Charles right where he is. He kisses you languidly, tiredly, and you stroke his back like he’s a big, tired pet.

“We ought to move,” he says hoarsely. Neither of you do.

“Just a little longer, Charles.” Your eyes are already closed and the idea of falling asleep like this seems wonderful; the mess be damned.

“Y/n…”

There’s something off about his voice. When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you with something like fear on his face. Your hand cups his cheek to ground you against the rising nerves.

“What? Is everything alright?”

“Of course it is… you’re here.” It’s his turn to cradles your face. He kisses you once, twice, and presses his forehead to yours. “Did you mean it? When you said you love me? I know it’s been years but…”

“Of course I did.” There’s a quiet whimper when you kiss him; you’re not sure from who. “After all these years, I couldn’t get over you. Not even when I thought you were dead. I just… accepted that I’d never have anyone else.”

“That must’ve been lonely.”

“It doesn’t matter. Not now. You’re here.”

“I’m here.” His voice is so quiet, so unbelievably soft, that you almost don’t hear the words. But you feel them, both in the breath against your face and the surge of warmth in your chest. You don’t even notice the few tears that slip down your cheeks until Charles kisses them away. Then his lips are on yours and you spend the next long while holding each other close; unwilling to ever let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. That happened.  
Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you found some enjoyment out of it. I really do love Charles, it's not even a joke anymore. If you want me to write more for this story or for Charles, please let me know. I'd be more than happy to! 
> 
> Thank you again for reading this, comments are wonderfully appreciated! Take care. 
> 
> See you in the next one :)


End file.
